She unzipped the many pockets on her pants and laid everything on the bed frame. One thing she'd learned from him many years before was that the most unlikely tools could get you out of a jam. He grinned as she pulled out bobby pins and dental floss, a small coil of wire, her cellphone, which had no service, emergency cash and a
credit card from her sock, a pen knife, a book of matches, a flashlight, Band-Aids and gauze pads, a detonation cord, and a blasting cap.
"That's my girl," he said, sifting through the supplies.
She didn't correct him, but she did take a step back.
"So we escape and then what?" she asked. "Damian will never leave us alone. Not until he has the treasure or he kills us. You've--" she started and then corrected herself. "We've always been a threat to him. But mostly you because you and Damian go back a lot farther than he and I do."
"You kicked him in the balls the last time we were all in the same room together," Lucas said. "Believe me, his vendetta is as much against you as it is me."
"He was rude," she said primly, remembering the moment with perfect clarity.
"Ha!" Lucas said. "That's an understatement. Okay, let's see what we can finagle."
He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, and she thought it a shame he'd cover such perfection. She was angry with him, but she wasn't dead.
It took him all of two minutes to pick the padlock, and most of that time was spent trying to find the right angle once he got his hands through the bars.
"Well, that's something at least," he said, arranging the chains and padlock so it looked as if it were still locked. "Now we just have to wait and hope the rats don't eat us before we can escape."
"The closest town is about ten miles up the road," she said, biting her lip. She could deal with a lot of things, but the rats were giving her pause.
"Where's Damian in all this?" he asked. "He normally likes to get in my face as soon as possible because he knows he irritates the hell out of me."
"Only because you let him."
"Nah, I let him think I let him." He stopped and thought a second. "If that even makes sense. Whatever the case, I don't like that he hasn't made an appearance yet."
"I heard Ryan and Doyle mention that he was flying in from overseas. He's supposed to arrive around five."
"Doyle, huh?" Lucas said. "That's a stupid name." He looked at his watch. "It's half past five already."
"You've got something cooking in that brain of yours," she said. "You always tap your index finger when you're thinking. You do it when you're playing poker too."
He looked at her incredulously. "You must be kidding. I don't have any tells."
"If you say so," she said, shrugging. "But the better your hand is, the faster your finger taps."
"If you'd told me that five years ago, maybe you could have saved me a couple of thousand dollars in Mexico last month."
"If you want to save a couple of thousand dollars, then maybe you shouldn't gamble," she said, arching a brow.
"Doc, you've got to lighten up a bit. Learn to have a little fun."
"Since I've known you I've almost drowned, been shot at, dangled from a cliff, fled from an active volcano, been pushed out of a helicopter, and been kidnapped. I'm not sure I could have more fun if I tried."
"Well, when you put it that way, I guess we have had some good adventures."
"Memorable for sure," she said, smiling.
And they'd made some amazing memories. There had been fun and excitement and passion. But there'd also been the quiet reassurance of love between two people who shared something unique and had mutual respect for each other's talents.
Maybe she had been the one who started to pull away. To see the faults in his personality, even though those same faults were things that had drawn her to him when they'd first met. Although she'd broached the topic, he'd never made it clear what he'd wanted for their future. Would it always be one hair-raising adventure after another? Would there ever be time to enjoy the things they'd worked for? To raise a family or leave a legacy? It hadn't seemed as if he'd been interested in planning for the future. She'd wanted a future with him, but not at the cost of their lives because the risk was as thrilling as the reward.
His arm brushed the side of her breast when he moved, and she gasped at the touch. He froze and stared at her, and the air became heavy with needs she'd hidden for two years. Blood rushed in her ears, and her heart thudded in her chest. And then she made the mistake of looking up at him--of seeing those dark chocolate eyes go black as want sizzled like electricity between them.
She put her hand flat against his chest, not sure if she was warning him to keep his distance or inviting him to move closer. But whatever the case, he moved toward her and she brought her other hand up to rest against his chest. She'd always been a tactile person, whether it be while examining precious artifacts or spending hours touching every ridge of muscle or scar on his body. Touch told a much better story than sight.